Page 29 of Double Apex

During the morning meeting on race day, Emerald’s chiefstrategist suggests a daring plan, unlikely to be implemented by other teams. Based on today’s weather report—taking heat, wind, and even angle of shadows into consideration—he lobbies for starting the race on hard compound tyres.

Most teams will start on soft compound tyres and switch to hard later, employing one pit stop. A few other teams may start on mediums and switch to hard. Computer simulations suggest this bold alternate approach could put Emerald at a serious advantage.

As the strategy is discussed, there are nervous sideways glances amongst the team members in the room.

Phaedra speaks up.

“I see the potential advantage,” she allows, her tone cautious. “Switching to soft tyres later in the race would be great when the shadows cool the track and there isn’t as much worry about the rubber degradation. In the meantime, we’d get some good data seeing how everyone else performs on them. But”—she massages the bridge of her nose—“at this circuit, there’s amassiveprobability we’ll see the safety car. This is Baku, so there’s a high crash risk. I mean, it’s only worse in Monaco—we all know this, right?” She lifts her hands and looks around the room in an appeal for agreement.

About half the team members nod in concession; some glance at Klaus, as if wondering whether to commit to an opinion.

He hasn’t weighed in yet, and I’m not the only person who’s noticed an odd tension between him and Phaedra this past week. I even overheard a mechanic joking about it, saying,“The Fellowship is broken! We’ll never make it to Mount Doom now.”

“If so,” she continues, “we’re royally fucked. Might as well pass out pillows of lube to the other teams. They can enjoy it along with their less costly pit stops while the safety car is out.”

“I assure you, Miss Morgan,” the strategist asserts, “it’s worth the risk.”

“Perhaps you’d like to see the data, Phaedra my dear?” Klaus puts in mildly.

He’s looking at a tablet, not at her. His tone says the offer, rather than being an invitation, is rhetorical, meant to imply that her question is unwelcome. It’s also the first time I’ve heard him directly address her as anything other than Schatzi.

She fixes him with a look of disbelief. “And perhapsyou’dlike to walk back the condescension.”

Klaus lifts his gaze, so slowly it borders on careless. They lock eyes, the air between them thick with tension.

“It’s windy as fuck today,” she goes on. “With decreased grip on the hard tyres, Cos and Jake are already going to struggle with braking points. Did the simulations take into considerationexactlywhere the wind will be channeled through building gaps? Are the gusts going to hit them in—”

“Respectfully,” Klaus interrupts, “it’s whatyour fatherpays Wilhelm to determine.” He nods toward the chief strategist.

Highlighting the fact that Ed Morgan owns the team is a card dealt from the bottom of the deck, and out of character for Klaus. I can’t imagine what’s instigated this hostility. Iwonder whether Phaedra said something negative about Santorini and Klaus’s feelings were hurt.

“Oh,apologies,” she tells him with heavy sarcasm. “If I’d known I was expected to be only ‘seen and not heard’ today, I’d have dressed up fancy.”

Several people in the room develop a rapt interest in their coffee cups. Jakob unwraps a protein bar with the careful silence of someone trying to eat candy in a theater during a deathbed scene. Anything to avoid Phaedra’s calmly murderous expression.

After an uncomfortable silence, she looks at me. “All right then. So. What do you think, Legs? Jake?”

Jakob pauses mid-chew, then shrugs, eyes wide at being put on the spot.

“Gotcha. And how ’bout you?” she asks, lifting her chin at me.

I take a slow breath. “It’s a bold plan and partially contingent on luck. But isn’t that life? I’d love to hear the commentators gasp and chatter when they see the Emeralds roll out on white sidewall tyres.” I grin. “And if we pull it off, we’re gods.”

A tiny smile flickers at the corner of those sweet lips. It’s the first I’ve seen directed at me in over two weeks since the housekeeper incident in Shanghai.

She claps her hands together. “I’m sold.”

I’m excited to see if the gamble pays off. But more than anything, I am delighted to see Phaedra smile at me again.

After I pass Anders Olsson, Phaedra’s voice in my ears is calm.

“Clean, Cos. Nicely done. P2. You’ve gone purple in sector one.”

“Copy.”

I can’t believe our luck in avoiding the safety car. It’s almost unheard of here because the long straights necessitate a low-downforce setup, and due to the high number of ninety-degree turns on a street circuit, there’s heavy braking. A street circuit also means minimal run-off area, so a mistake is likely to buy you an appointment with the nearest wall. It’s a demanding combination.

I feel like I’m flying, outside and in. I’ve ramped up my aspirations since Ortiz retired with a gearbox problem and Ono had what Phaedra refers to as a “four-way clown fuck of a pit stop”—nearly forty seconds when they brought out mismatched tyres.

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